


Call it what you want

by Hacereadsenochian (Grannahreadsenochian)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars, star wars rogue one
Genre: Cause I know all y'all thirsty bitches ain't just bitches, Daddy Krennic, F/M, Fluff, Implied Smut, Krennic is such a bottom, Krennic is weak, M/M, Pampering, genderless reader, luv, no smut though, not tonight, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 19:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9086584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grannahreadsenochian/pseuds/Hacereadsenochian
Summary: There are worse ways to live, other than in the sparkling city Coruscant, the center of the Galactic Empire, hooked up by Orson Krennic, a big man with big money. There are worse ways to spend your nights, like staring out the window at night wondering where he is, out there in the stars, and if he's alright. There's nothing better than when he comes home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was such an impulse-write for me?? I just banged it out and I didn't even know where I was going with this but I am suddenly really fascinated by this. Inspired by a headcanon with something to do with you in his cape, I don't remember where I saw it but shout out to whoever the genius was.

Orson Krennic was the tool of an inspired, truly evil man, that Governer Tarkin, no doubt about that. But he wasn’t a bad guy. At least not with you. 

He was weak with you. 

He was weak when he fell for you shortly after occupying the planet you lived on. Weak when he found you an apartment in Coruscant, probably because he felt guilty for putting you out of a job after he shut down the factory you worked at. Weak when he flew you to Coruscant, all expenses paid. When he made sure you would never have to work again another day in your life, ensuring through various means that you’d spend the rest of your days in comfort and luxury, among all his friends in high up. So weak that he couldn’t resist taking you to parties and showing you off to his friends, you beautiful, gorgeous thing you. 

He was weak for your feisty temperament and your quick wit. Your sharp tongue but also your soothing words. 

He bought you a transport, sleek and sporty and fast. He got you memberships to all the best clubs Coruscant had to offer you, ensuring that you needn’t even say your name before the door was being opened for you. 

He got you a handmaiden, and got rid of her when she became annoying. He got you a shiny protocol droid, and this time it followed all your instructions and didn’t talk back. 

It was his weakness that made him spend his days on leave with you, in the heart of the Galactic Empire on Coruscant, surrounded by men in grey suits who made his skin crawl with their superiority complexes and their judgement and disdain. 

But no matter what happened in those meetings, or those casual passings in the hallways or on the streets, he could always come home to you and have all his worries washed away. He knew it would only take your big smile, your eyes when he walked in the door, and all the stress and pent up frustration and anger would just melt away. 

You would believe him when he talked about how everyone was out to get him, from jealousy or greed. You would frown and shake your head with him when he cursed Tarkin’s name. You would rub his neck and shoulders and rest your hand on his chest and run your fingers through his hair and calm him down. You would smile and giggle when he talked about how well the Death Star was progressing, how soon Tarkin and Vader and even the Emperor would know his name. And when he got the recognition he deserved, he promised, you would be there next to him, Mrs. Admiral Krennic. 

You’d bite your lip and grin and caress the back of his neck. 

He’d gaze at you with so much love and adoration and you’d wonder if he saw just how weak he was. Or how weak you were for him. 

When he was gone, and when you heard news of the corruption and backstabbing among the higher ranks of the Empire, you’d sip your drink and nod and laugh with the other girls, the other wives. 

But when you got home, and he wasn’t there, you’d pour yourself a glass of whatever spirits you had on hand, curl up on the luxurious sofa that seemed too big and empty without him, fiddling nervously with the ring on your finger. 

You’d stare out the window and send up a few prayers for him, even though you never knew which god to pray to. 

But the worry would fade with the drink and you’d be back to clubbing and partying and living the life. 

And when he’d come home, it was like he never was gone. 

It was always so easy to make him happy. 

Just seeing you made him forget his work. 

You knew the power you held over him. By day he was the Director of something big, doing something big for the Empire. But by night you were in charge. Whether that meant you sat him on the couch and straddled him as soon as he came in the door, or pranced around in his cape, and only his cape, you knew how to get what you wanted. 

Because you were weak for him too. 

The way he smiled at you, and the anger melted from his face. The way he’d do anything for you. 

The way his eyes got all dark when you got him started talking about his ambitions and the progress he was making on his project. 

Weak for the thrill you got when he told you secrets about top secret information.

Weak for the power you felt when you were standing at his side, in a ballroom filled with important people. 

Weak for the way he paraded you around and the pride that was in his voice and his eyes when someone so much as glanced at you, much less come up and engage in conversation. 

Weak for the power you felt when he moaned and breathed your name in the apartment, in bed, on the couch, on the balcony. When he did whatever it took to make you arch and moan. His hot breath on your neck, his hands in your hair.  


He was weak for you but you were weak for him too. 

Call it love, call it need, call it obsession. 

Call it what you want.


End file.
